First Set
by Glacies
Summary: the cure is still in the testing stages- a ninety four percent chance that whoever is injected with it will die. the vaccine is much lower, but since it reacts if the virus is already in the body, it's not a safe choice either-  "I'm sorry."


**First Set**

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><p><em>Everything leads to each other, in a never ending circle. It's a spider's web of beginnings and endings and middles.<em>

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><p>Standing at the window, Largo Lloyd raked a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. His cigarette was not in his mouth for once, but there was a pack and an extra on the stacks of paperwork he had to finish. He choose to ignore them for a second, instead looking out the window and at the artificial sun.<p>

It was a pretty view, really. The land of Akatsuki is bright, but then it gradually dims until it reaches where he is, shrouded in the half-light. In Akatsuki, he muses, are there murderers and rapists and thieves? Could those people really live in the light?

He doesn't really want to know, he decides. Because if that's true, that they can't live in that beautiful place where there is light, then what does that make the people in Yuusari? Does it make them the murderers, rapists, and thieves?

He didn't want to know, really. A small part of him did at first, but he then realized that it was a stupid question to begin with. A fantasy of a child. He wasn't not a child. He'd been forced to grow up quickly like everyone else.

But then he remembered the report that had been given to him. _The artificial sun devours people's hearts. It feeds of their positive emotions_, the report had read.

Suddenly, he felt pity for the people in Akatsuki. It was much nicer to live in a state of happiness than to have light. People without the light were better off.

But still, in Yuusari, you could disappear into the shadows. Murders, rapists, thieves. The underground criminal railways.

A sigh escaped his lips as he turned from the window, walking back to his desk. Akatsuki was a land of beginnings and Yuusari was a land of options – not all of them good. The nagging feeling in his stomach persisted.

He'd simply lock the doors to the Bee Hive from now on.

**.**

**.**

A figure stood at the door, staring at the oak wood and wondering if they should knock or just walk in. Customs here really were different, they realized. If they were at home, they'd breeze in without knocking before directing the people in the room on today's schedule and what they had to do and how fast they had to do it.

Then it would be time for paperwork and the normal work day, a day filled with dissecting corpses and studying the body, testing new solutions and keeping their people safe.

So as they stood there in the common uniform of silver and gray tinged with red that everyone in the south seemed to wear instead of this plain blue and gold uniform that was worn in the northern and everywhere else in the region of Amberground, they felt very self aware.

Knocking, they gripped the thick chain with the crown charm in their left hand, waiting for someone to come to the door and open it for them.

When it opens, they were greeted by a somewhat happy face lost in thought, a cigarette hanging out of their mouth and a raised eyebrow. A sigh and frown appeared a second later. "Bad news?"

A red uniform meant bad news. It meant something had started, and it was usually bad if someone from the far south and the islands came this far to deliver news. A matching frown was on the southerner's face as they let go of the chain. "Yes. May I come in?"

**.**

**.**

Tap, tap, tap.

Hunched over the desk, he skimmed over important documents regarding the new outbreak of disease in the Southern Amberground Bee Hive. His left hand tapped a steady beat as he scanned through the papers in an attempt to distract himself from the thought of people dying from something there was no cure for.

It wasn't working.

Letting out a groan, he momentarily stopped the tapping to rub his forehead. Brushing some white hair out of his line of vision, he got back to work, now intently looking at the graphs and data collected from tests done on the strain of disease, piecing together bits and pieces of what would seem like insignificant facts to most people.

To him, they were pieces of this puzzle he was attempting to solve without knowing what the puzzle looked like or how big it was.

To say he was enraptured with his work was an understatement.

Five minutes later, he got up and grabbed some of the notes he was using, heading out into the hallway, still glancing through them. He needed to get out and walk. If he walked, then he would get a better insight on the problem and how to fix it. Intently trained on the notes and graphs and meaningless numbers, he bumped into someone.

A few of the papers he was holding fell to the ground, and the other person instantly bent down to gather them up, apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going, please don't kill me or anything, because that would sorta suck-" They kept talking until he let out a short sigh, starting at the order the papers had appeared in.

The data made more sense if he looked at it like that, comparing the two variables and gradually adding in other pieces.

The other person backed up a few feet, intent on getting as far away as possible before he got upset. So when he simply grabbed them by the wrist and tugged them back in the direction of his lab, they had a fairly confused look on their face.

"Whoa, Mr. Thunderland, you're not going to sacrifice me or anything, are you? Please say you aren't, I really don't want to die."

He simply let out another groan as he dragged the colleague from the Southern Amberground Bee Hive behind him.

**.**

**.**

Four days later, the southern official was on their way after having deposited loads of fresh new paperwork to Dr. Thunderland Jr.

The doctor was still cooped up inside even though it was time for him to return to his home. The pen he was holding was taking notes as he looked over the old data and the new information he had been given, his free hand tapping out patterns to keep himself busy as he worked.

Three hours later, he sighed and dropped the pen, resting his head on his hands. There was a possibility that he could create a cure. A slight possibility that it would actually work and save the people who were dying of this disease. A chance of hope.

A chance to save all the people who would die as the infection continued to creep into the higher parts of Amberground, carried by crops and people and rats.

Two hours later, he realizes the exact price this vaccine and cure would bring. It was monstrous, and for a second he scolded himself for making it seem like there was hope. He hated himself right now. The vaccine might have worked. It would destroy the disease.

There was also almost a one hundred percent chance that the vaccine would kill the person by stopping their heart.

A ninety four percent chance to be exact.

Death was the only other cure.

Sighing, the white haired doctor leaned back, staring up at the ceiling with his good eye. Death was the only likely outcome.

What if one of the Bees he was supposed to take care of caught it?

Shoving that thought away, he stood up. No Bee would catch it. He had to be certain.

Dr. Thunderland Jr. had never felt more helpless in his life then when he came down the massive staircase in the Letter Bee Hive ten minutes later to hear rasping coughs, wheezing, and to see a figure curled up against the wall.

**.**

**.**

Too much. It was simply too much to take in.

It was way too early.

The sun hasn't risen- but then again, it never rose, so he shouldn't look forward to anything. Instead, he was wheeling his bike through the streets of Central Yuusari, looking up at the buildings and trying to be quiet. It was harder when the wheels of the bike were making scraping sounds across the stones, and his footsteps were heavy because he's so tired.

It was way to early.

He was unable to get to the Bee Hive the normal way because of that fact. Using the bike would wake the people up. So instead, he chose to simply limp through the city while wheeling the bike - because despite what people think, it's merely a thin layer of metal over a frame with some parts. It wasn't that heavy.

Right now though, it felts like it weighed tons. His body felt heavy, his eyesight was blurry, and every few seconds he'd cough, a wet rasping sound that more than likely meant there was something wrong with his lungs. Hell, his breathing sounded raspy and unhealthy.

It was still too early.

When he finally reached the Bee Hive, he stood here for a second, getting wetter and wetter and coughing, before he tested the doors. They were locked.

Because it was two AM in the morning. What person leaves a building unlocked?

So Jiggy Pepper relied on the skills he has that he gained to survive, and picked the lock on the door. When it opens, he stood in the entrance to a dark hall.

It was too early.

No one was there.

So he wheeled the bike in and propped it against the wall, out of the rain, and settled down next to it, tugging his jacket closer and his gloves off, intent on finding some much needed sleep. He wrapped his scarf around his neck tightly, lets out a few more coughs, and closed his eyes. He knew that the person who walks in here the next day will be in for a surprise, a pair of unlocked doors, a drenched bike, and a banged up deliveryman.

He didn't really care.

Because in reality, it was still way too early.

**.**

**.**

The doctor froze halfway down the stairs before rushing forward and down the steps. The massive hall seemed to take eternity to cross, and he realized with a sinking feeling that it wasn't just a person, it was a Bee. A Bee who owned a bike that could be used to go through the deserts and mountains that barricaded the lower south from the rest of Amberground.

The same Letter Bee who had a delivery to the South of Amberground just recently.

A sick feeling was already in his stomach when he reached them to find that they – Jiggy Pepper, he realized distantly – were unconscious, dripping wet, and more than likely sick.

Scooping the Bee in his arms, he stood up, thanking the fact that Jiggy was so light and that he had enough strength to carry the green eyed Letter Bee through the halls easily. Though on the first one, he wasn't sure if he should be alarmed about.

He probably should.

Reaching 'Hell's Kitchen' – a name that had made him snort with amusement before – he opened the massive doors, thankful they weren't locked for once. Stumbling inside, he placed the Bee on the table in the middle of the room before checking his vitals.

_(the first signs of the bleeding sickness as they called it was fatigue, unable to eat properly, failing eyesight, and a slight cough-)_

The pulse was weak and irregular. Strike one.

Jiggy hadn't been eating properly. The last time he had seen the Bee, Dr. Thunderland Jr. had not been able to pick out all the bones in his ribs or easily fell the bones in the rest of his body. Strike two.

A slight cough was an understatement. He had heard the rasping coughs and the labored breathing from before Jiggy had fallen unconscious. Strike three.

_(when the disease progresses, the breathing becomes labored as blood slowly begins to collect in the lungs and sores appear on the patient's arms, along with fevered nightmares that can lead the patient to harming him or herself unconsciously-)_

The sores were there. He had seen them while checking the pulse on Jiggy's arm.

He had two choices. Let the disease get worse and ultimately kill him, or try the cure.

Standing up, he walked over to the counter, pulling out a syringe filled with a clear liquid and an alcohol swab. Walking back to Jiggy, he sighed.

_(as the cure is still in the testing stages, there is a ninety four percent chance that whoever is injected with it will die. the vaccine is much lower, but since it reacts badly if the virus is already in the body, it is not a safe choice either-)_

Using the swab on a spot on the green eyed letter Bee's arm, he let out a few mumbled words as he injected the possible but most likely deadly cure.

"_I'm sorry."_

**_fin._**

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><p><strong><em>an:_ Iggy here cannot write happy stories. Le's give an explanation to this pice first.**

**I found this one hundred word prompt, so I split them into groups and did this. There's ten of these, I think? I probably won't do them all.**

**I love writing serious Lloyd. Chapters fro GtMS and VeL are in progress, along with Playing God.**

**This was supposed to be a happy story. I'm apparently unable of writing them. But the question is... did Jiggy die?**


End file.
